I'm curious if anybody has had a chance to read my short story, and if so, what did you think? I'm looking for honest feedback. I want to write a novel, and if this style of writing is fun/acceptable to read, I'd like to know. thanks.

This book is a work of fiction. Incidents, names, characters, and places are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Resemblances to actual locales or events or persons living or dead is coincidental.

“Suicide.” Ivan let the word escape his mouth as if he were saying it aloud for the first time. His tongue and lips contorting, holding each syllable as if every letter had a unique meaning. He was staring at Sebastian, hoping for any type of retaliation to his one word sentence. Nearly five minutes passed without either of them saying anything. Neither of them had to explain to whom the word was in reference. After twenty or more clicks on the retractable thumb plunger, Sebastian mindlessly read the side of the pen he was holding “ultra fine point permanent marker”. He was hoping this boring observation would change the subject, even if the new subject was on ink pen preference or the cost of cheap pens, anything but suicide. Sebastian’s sideways glance revealed Ivan deep in thought, obviously not even noticing his vain attempt at changing the conversation topic. Resting his left hand on his face that connected to his elbow resting on the standard sized manila folder containing the coroner report. The file was bulging with official documents and news paper clippings both original and photocopied. Pages were protruding from being forced into a folder designed to only contain a few 8×10 pieces of paper. The two of them had assembled hand drafted hypothesis, guesswork, opinion, speculation, presumption. They were lacking evidence and facts. Sebastian cleared his throat, “Maybe we should give it a rest? At least until”. Ivan cut his proposition short with a loud snort, then a frustrated sigh. Only a few seconds of silence passed. “Sure, what were you going to say?” Sebastian continued talking slowly and calm, as to not increase the already present tension. “All I was suggesting was that we do a little more research and maybe continue this over coffee tomorrow?” Ivan relinquished the bloated folder from beneath Sebastian’s elbow, making Sebastian take quick evasive maneuvers as to not let his tired head collapse on the desk. Avoiding cranium collision followed a dexterous movement, Sebastian extended his arm to check his wrist watch for the time. Tapping the acrylic face of his watch Sebastian stated “It’s almost 4am, as agreed we’ll continue this tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut making the door knocker ring out its metallic notes as it settled. Ivan stood in the foyer holding the folder at his side, the contents spilling out from either end. They had agreed to proceed with their investigation tomorrow, but this didn’t stop Ivan from sitting down at his kitchen table organizing and reading all the frayed documents. He knew that when Sebastian said tomorrow, he didn’t mean first thing in the morning over breakfast coffee. Ivan decided he’d be proactive and continue researching until his mind couldn’t make sense of the words printed on the documents, until his body moved at the pace of a snail. Determined to figure out what really happened to his brother eighteen years ago. When he first learned of his brothers demise was also the first time he had to learn what the word suicide meant. When we’re children we expect parents to protect our naïve minds from such atrocities. The teaching Ivan had been handed were to ostracize his brothers taboo actions. Throughout life this mode of thinking became accepted by Ivan, it even became a moral standpoint. The words of our guardians become ultimate truths sometimes, and not only did Ivan believe suicide was wrong but so did his younger brother Sebastian.

The car door locked, imprisoning Sebastian within his thirty thousand dollar cell. The instrument panel’s iridescent glow was bright enough for Sebastian to finger the desired amount of prescription pain killers hiding inside the console. He wasn’t suffering from any pain, at least not physical. Sebastian involved in a love affair of drug abuse, her name was Vicodin. The pills made a distinct sound bouncing off his teeth and down his throat. He had stared at the dashboard clock for an indeterminable amount of time. The digits 12:00 blinked in succession. Sebastian started to feel the effects of the Vicodin. He turned the ignition switch into its final phase, moved the gear shift into drive, rotated the windshield wipers into intermediate sweeps and buckled his seat belt. His foot still resting on the brake pedal, confused why his vision was still obstructed by the light rain even after the wipers had made their way across the glass more than a few times. Sebastian cursed aloud “fuck! What could possibly be wrong now?” In his frustration he pressed his hands against his face, moving them in vertical motions. While hiding his face from the speedometer he couldn’t help but think of all the contents of Ivan’s folder. Sebastian removed his tear soaked fingers revealing a clear windshield.

No song birds singing, no sun shining. Sebastian had slept through all the daylight hours. His two computer LCD monitors were projecting plenty of synthetic light. Laying on his bed was an uncapped empty prescription bottle and an insistently blinking cellphone attempting to notify him of his slothfulness. Sebastian attempting to wake himself started narrating. “I didn’t need the sun today anyway.. but I do need some caffeine.” Finishing his thoughts with a yawn. He grabbed his phone, looking at the display screen it listed one missed call and one voice mail. Sebastian wiping sleep from his eyes puts the phone to his still groggy head. The automated monotone robotic voice explaining his options to listen to the recorded message almost put Sebastian back to sleep. Suddenly a very excited voice started projecting into his ear ten decimals too high. “Sebastian, wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” Rolling his eyes Sebastian knew it was Ivan and he obviously was either pissed about missing our opportunity to seize the day or annoyed about something I wasn’t able to do while sleeping. “Sebastian, I’m not an idiot. I know you’re asleep and it’s pointless for me to tell you to wake up in a message you wont get until you actually do wake up, but I have big, no-no, huge news!” Hearing this Sebastian felt more awake than any energy drink could provide. Ivan continued “I actually found somebody who knew our brother. A friend of his to be exact. He agreed to meet with us and explain his final impressions on the last few days of them being together. He was with our brother the day before he died.” The message ended, and the robotic voice started inquiring about options for saving the recorded content. Sebastian disconnected the call and started gathering the necessary items for travel including a handful of Vicodin. Less than ten minutes passed before Sebastian strapped into his Acura NSX Type-R pressing the gas pedal.

Ivan couldn’t wait all day for Sebastian to answer his message, he had to proceed…

Ivan had dismembered the folder, making a perfectly disorganized mess of papers. He was trying to read all the information they had accumulated in no particular order. He was hoping the lack of time-line would reveal a new dimension of thought. After hours of reading already memorized history Ivan did see something new, born from chaos. He was blankly staring at a photocopied picture of a school yearbook and in this black and white snapshot, a hand written telephone number. Ivan quickly grabbed the page as if it had caught fire and needed extinguishing. His mind tangled with expectation and apprehension. The telephone number was probably more than twenty years old but it was his only new lead to follow. Without even thinking Ivan dialed the number without even thinking of what he would say if someone actually answered. Holding the phone to his ear he listened for almost thirty seconds, he would continued listening for thirty more if it meant someone would eventually answer their sides inbound ringing. “Hello?” The voice camouflaged with sleep. The person on the other end cleared their throat and asked “Hello? Is anyone there?” Ivan astonished the telephone number was in working order and even better that they were awake and hopefully willing to talk. Ivan quickly replied to their inquiry, “Yes. I’m here… My name is Ivan, if only I could have one moment to ask you a few questions?” The line went deafly silent. Ivan thought the call had been disconnected. Instinctively Ivan spoke into the phone’s receiver “Hello?” Silence continued for a few seconds. “Hold yer’ horses, okay.” The voice didn’t sound as blanketed in sleep as before. “What are yer’ questions and why are they so urgent to call so early?” Ivan didn’t even check the time before dialing the phone number. Hastily looking towards his 1850s L. Japy Frères clock displaying six twenty-seven. While Ivan’s eyes and mind diverted realizing he had forgotten to sleep. “You’d better not be some telemarketer.” Ivan cleared his throat. “No, I assure you I’m not trying to be any annoyance to you sir and I apologize for the early call and any inconvenience.” Ivan feeling calm and collected he continued his questioning. “My name is Ivan and I’m doing some research on my family tree and your number showed up as a classmate of my deceased older brother.” He had told a small lie about how he obtained the phone number, but he certainly didn’t want to scare anyone with words like ‘investigation’. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ll do my best to help, what was your brother’s name?” Ivan leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his kitchen table, he was feeling confident. “Actually, I haven’t told you his name yet. I was actually shocked to learn this phone number was still in service.” Ivan interrupted by his brothers assumed classmate. “Well, sir, …eh I-I-Ivan. The phone number you dialed is actually my mothers and I’ve
4

fallen on hard times like so many others in this bad economy. You have great timing to reach me here.” Ivan spent the next twenty minutes explaining that it would be great if they could meet in person and go over a few things from the past. The only convincing required was to buy breakfast. Ivan didn’t have any expectations of Sebastian being awake at such an early hour, he left a voice mail on Sebastian’s cellphone as he was driving to meet his new ‘out of work, down on his luck’ informant.

The 18? x 24? sign glowed blue from the xenon headlights making it easily readable, neon soaked digits a two and five. Sebastian had been in a great rush to meet Ivan but now he sat like a stone in the driver seat of his car. He was trying to formulate a valid excuse for his absence and lack of his own research. His cigarette smoke departed through the sun roof and thumping bass lines escaped through the trunk. Maybe Ivan would be so impressed with his own discovery that he wouldn’t even question his lacking motivation. A sudden knocking against glass just inches away from Sebastian’s head brought him back into reality. “When you park in front of my house, would you at least have the respect to turn down your music?” Ivan bending down talking into the driver’s window. “I don’t know why you have to listen to Nine Inch Nails so loud, I’ve heard them before and they don’t have the merit for permanent ear damage.” With his lecture finished he lifted the car door handle allowing Sebastian to vacate the vehicle. Sebastian started verbally fumbling excuses why he hadn’t been available all day. Ivan dismissed his apologies while walking him into his house, greeted with the aroma of Earl Grey being steeped. Sebastian took his favorite seat the Eames lounge and ottoman. Stretching his arms above his head and displaying a satisfied grin he stated “This is the way to relax.” Ivan giving him a snide glance replied “Yes, I do prefer my furniture inside my home, where as you seem to enjoy being inside your little sport car more than your own bed.” Ivan placed two Lenox fine bone tea cups and saucers on the table, silently suggesting Sebastian resituate to the table for a serious conversation. Ivan told his story about meeting their older brothers schoolmate and supposed friend. Ivan talked for almost thirty minutes without leaving any opening for disputes. He explained everything in great detail leaving Sebastian in awe, brow furrowed and jaw dropped. Their tea had become cold but neither of them even noticed because the story had confirmed many of their malevolent suspicions. While Ivan paused to taste the now bitter liquid, Sebastian used this moment to say what they had both thought for years but never said until now. “Murder!”

Ivan’s facial expression remained unchanged after hearing the nefarious accusation. He calmly place the tattered manila envelope on overpriced Baleri Italia table creating the perfect contrast of elegance and amateurishness. Ivan started pulling out specific documents and pointing out their best attempts at evidence were just documented observation. Ivan’s voice had taken on a somber note. “We are missing proper forensic investigation documentation and unfortunately when this happened the police closed it as a typical suicide with no foul play involved.” Sebastian’s erratic breathing sounded powerful enough to propel a steam locomotive. Ivan continued “I share your sentiments Sebastian, the newly found evidence is enough for vigilant retribution but what about consequences?” Sebastian put his hands up in frustration and started to explain his own personal justification. “We started this inquisition with the intent to find out why our brother killed himself and along the way we discovered he wasn’t depressed, precisely why he didn’t leave a note.” Sebastian now standing vocalizing more hypothesis “You talked to his friend yourself. You said they were planning to trip on acid the day he died and our brother had befriended a suspicious older man who was going to supply the drugs. We’re not talking about your typical dope dealer.” Sebastian continued his caustic accusations. “Ivan, you can’t not think this guy could have been some sick child molesting freak or maybe just a serial killer that stumbled on a good opportunity, an easy target our own brother!” His words becoming obloquy and his eyes filling with tears. Ivan agreed with everything he was saying but he had to breath reason back into the conversation. “Calm down! Smoke a cigarette or take a seat in that fancy chair of mine you like so much, but listen to reason before you lose control.” Sebastian returned to his previous seat lighting a cigarette with his monogram Zippo lighter, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the black walnut table. Ivan knew this would be a difficult conversation to continue. “I’ll brew us some more tea or would you prefer something a bit stronger?” The only motion Sebastian made was a thumbs up in accordance with being served alcohol.

The unique rhyme of crystal Baccarat Vega being juggled was a siren song to Sebastian’s ears. Peeling his face from the table his eyes fixed on the frosted glass bottle of Belvedere vodka Ivan had purposely placed only a few centimeters from his resting head. Without hesitation Sebastian haphazardly spilled the alcohol into his tumbler, onto his left hand, and even the freshly waxed table. Ivan’s voice already disenchanted with the present situation. “Why even bother trying to pour it into a glass?” Sebastian didn’t even notice the remark with amount of enkindle his throat was enduring from the vodka. Raising the bottle from the tabletop Sebastian started to move the nozzle into Ivan’s glass when a quick hand covered the opening. “Before a celebratory drink, I would prefer to finish my clarification of our misadventure.” Ivan started to arrange particular papers from the folder. He started pointing to specific notations, dates, whole paragraphs blacked out with marker. “Do you understand we’ve been victims of grief? All of the time we spent on this was a great way for us to bond and deal with our brothers death in our own manner.” Ivan lightly massaged his temples, his face produced despondency of infinite proportion. “Sebastian, I’m more discouraged than you know. I’m realizing this was all a façade to keep our brothers memory alive and we’ve done so in a most disgusting fashion.” Without even looking to Sebastian for approval he started gathering up all the paperwork and stuffing it back into the over utilized folder. “We’re not Karamazov brothers trying to debate free will or morality, nor did we write something as astonishing as the story of the Grand Inquisitor.” Ivan had to turn his back to Sebastian in fear of losing his train of thought looking into those fiery eyes. “We don’t have a murder case, we don’t even have substantial evidence to not re-open but just plan open a case and one that is nearly twenty years in our past.” The sound of glass being projected into a wall with superlative force shattered Ivan’s narration. Since Ivan had his back turned he could only assume Sebastian had lost his temper at hearing the truth and destroyed something beautiful. Next he heard the words “You never had to humor me pretending to investigate something you didn’t believe for my attention.” After throwing the glass against the wall Sebastian had already dismissed hearing Ivan’s resolution and was heading towards the door as he was talking, both of them not facing each other. “Thanks for doing all the fake legwork and letting me hang on your faux coat tails.” He closed the door as if hoping it would break free from its hinges.

Ivan finished cleaning ultra fine shards of glass from his black mosaic granite tiled kitchen floor. He didn’t feel any hardship towards Sebastian’s reaction. Relieved that the catastrophe he fabricated ended with the breaking of only one of the many expensive items in his home. Ivan started conducting his nightly rituals (brushing his teeth and washing his face) before going to sleep with a smile on his face. He knew Sebastian would also come around to seeing things more clearly in the next few days and feel better having put such frivolous endeavors in the past. Ivan drifted to sleep elated with psychological accomplishment.
Sebastian stared into the palm of his hand, blue-tinted oblong tablets toppled over themselves trying to escape through this fingers. Cupping his hand he started drinking the pills, pushing them into his mouth until he started to choke. Swiftly grabbing the bottle of Hammer & Sickle vodka he bathed the chalky pills with eighty proof alcohol. Sebastian’s glazed eyes fixated on his bedrooms only light-bulb, as if every answer he had ever asked himself was waiting for him between the glowing tungsten filament. Sleep wouldn’t release Sebastian from his introspection. Speaking aloud he started to ask the four surrounding walls questions. “Did Ivan know the truth from the beginning? Why would he carry on such a charade? What was his reason for making the file… and tracking down friends and classmates for information?” Slowly his voice’s decibel level disappeared, his bottle of liquor spilled on the floor as he slumped over into a Salvador Dali version of Auguste Rodin’s “The Thinker”.
“Reich mir die Hand” projecting from Sebastian’s cellphone, it was his ringtone. Still feeling the full effects of the handful of Vicodin he could barely discern the digits of the incoming call. He assumed it was Ivan ready to apologize, grinning Sebastian knew his brother wouldn’t have been able to sleep watching him leave so angry. “I assume your ready to make amends?” The line was uncomfortably silent for few seconds. “Sir? I am sorry for calling at such a late hour, am I speaking to Sebastian?” The voice was not Ivan’s, nor was it anyone Sebastian knew. “Yes. I’m Sebastian.” Perplexed by the tone and formality of this mystery caller Sebastian decided to await further explanation. On the other end of the telephone the woman asked, “Sir, I have some terrible news that I would prefer to tell you in person.” Sebastian cut her loitering conversation skills short. “What terrible news? What’s happened? I’m awake. Where do you want to meet to talk?”

9

The next words Sebastian heard were Ivan’s address. His heart pounding and sweat swelling on his forehead he replied calmly, “I’ll be there in ten minutes, I live only a few miles away.”
An ambulance without its sirens flashing was driving away from Ivan’s house. Police tape already wrapped the perimeter and standing behind it was a woman shining a flashlight directly into Sebastian’s eyes. “Sir. You can’t be here and you left your car door wide open!” Still trudging towards the female police officer Sebastian already removing his driver license from his Perry Ellis wallet to provide proper credentials. “I’m Ivan’s brother, Sebastian. I assume you were the one I just spoke to on the phone?” She was using her flashlight to verify his identity. “Yes, I was the one you talked to, I’m sorry to report your brother has committed suicide.” She forced a formal frown as taught to do at the academy. “I know this is coming to you as a shock, but it would be a great help since you’re already here if you could take a look around the house for anything abnormal.” Sebastian nodded with approval. She escorted him inside, she continued talking but her voice soon drowned out by the thousands of questions breaking the dam inside Sebastian’s mind. “Madam. Could I please have a second alone?” She complied saying “I’ll be right here at the front door.” Sebastian wasn’t concerned with anything except getting to Ivan’s hidden safe. Quickly he punched in the electronic code. Inside revealed the manila folder with all of their investigation notes, cash and finance bonds other important personal documents and lastly a Smith & Wesson “Model 640? .38 revolver. Sebastian’s mind was becoming unstable and erratic, before losing his facilities to Vicodin. He grabbed a book bag and filled it with all the safes contents along with a photo album and some of his brothers clothes. Sebastian leisurely exited the house with the book bag thrown over his left shoulder. “Sir. You weren’t in there long, did you notice anything peculiar? Also what is that bag, you didn’t go inside with it.” Sebastian coolly answered her questions as if he were discussing the weather. “No officer, nothing seems out-of-place. A tragedy that I didn’t notice his depression.” Opening the zipper of the bag he pointed out that he collected a few personal keepsakes, making sure the handgun and cash were hidden at the bottom. “Miss, the body already having been removed can you please tell me how it happened.” She Grimaced, “Yes. He shot himself. A brief silence weighed heavy in the air after her remark. Sebastian didn’t notice the gap in conversation the only thing on his mind was vengeance. She continued “We assume the pistol was in his name but we’re still going to check the registration.”

10
Sebastian turned his attention to his still open car door as if it were more important than what had just occurred. “Thank you for everything, you can reach me using the same number you dialed tonight.” The officer gave a quick smile and stated the department would be getting in touch with him tomorrow for regular procedures.

Walking to his car he was beside himself. Sebastian accompanied Ivan the day he purchased the same gun at the bottom of the book bag, there was no way he had killed himself and then returned his own murder weapon to a locked safe. Sebastian realized he had extravagant amounts of new evidence in his possession along with tens of thousands of dollars and a loaded gun for vigilance. Sebastian began laughing at the irony of most stories ending with the hero riding into the sunset, while he was the new victim driving into the sunrise. Sebastian’s earlier near lethal dose of Vicodin started painting his future in Monet impressionism, brushstrokes of confusion and dabs of surrealism. The contents of the book bag would change his life, even more than both his brothers deaths.

Tendrils of smoke spiraled towards the ceiling fan spinning in reverse making the smoke return to the stained carpet. Detective Ushikawa lit another Lucky Strike cigarette while simultaneously scratching his head. One of his nervous habits while thinking perpetually suspended his hair in disarray. The case file sprawled out in front of him was a mass of confusion. He neglected going to the crime scene when it projected through the dispatch speaker. Now he regretted not being there in person. Case #06-18-07-17 wasn’t talking to him, not the same way as staring at corpses and smelling lingering gun powder. Ushikawa had been a homicide detective for over a decade. He had seen all the typical and not so typical murders. The one presently assigned was keeping him at his desk long after regular hours and the hair on his head was protruding in every direction possible. With no one in the room to hear him talking to himself he said, “This just doesn’t make sense, and I don’t get paid for deciphering this kinda shit.” He had read the case file enough to memorize the scenario. “Guy walks into a non-descriptive hotel room, four full metal jacket .38 bullets all hit their target, the victim’s chest. Followed by the last in the assailant’s head. All five revolver cylinders spent on Murder-suicide.” Ushikawa hated to summarize a case with alternate possibilities, but the other pieces didn’t make enough sense. The weapon registered to this guys brother Ivan, who committed suicide almost a year ago. The victim had no connection to Sebastian nor any prior convictions or even traffic violation. The poor fuck probably didn’t have any reason to consort with a socialite like Sebastian. Not noticing, Ushikawa had started recapitulating aloud again. “Sebastian. Why’d you do it? It says right here in my file you had a bank account full of money, thousands in the form of international banknotes and enough Vicodin to supply an entire hospital.” He exhaled a stream of carbon monoxide, then used his already burning cigarette to light another. “I don’t know why you killed him or yourself and apparently nobody else will either.” He picked up his ball point pen and signed his named ?? condemning the case unsolved with no need for further investigation. Crushing out his cigarette into the ashtray Ushikawa closed the file, turned out his desk lamp and shut the door.

The ink lubricated ball traveled in all directions leaving behind blue lines, swoops, and dots. Sebastian’s left hand was manipulating the cheap Bic ballpoint pen vigorously creating a list of ideas on how to obtain suicide reports. His creative determination shielded his eyes from his new enticing instructor. He was more concerned with smudging his writing with the heel of his palm. His grandmother’s social security check didn’t allow him the privilege of buying left-handed school supplies, he didn’t care. Sebastian never thought of his dominate hand as a handicap. It made him more aware of the surrounding environment, everything needed extra assessment. It changed where he could sit comfortably at a dinner table or how he held his hand one inch higher from the page than most people. Sebastian once heard that ‘left handed’ roughly translated to sinister using the dead language Latin. Whenever someone spoke the word ‘sinister’, Sebastian imagined himself as an evil super villain or mad scientist holding the world in his left hand.

His day dreams of grandeur quickly dissipated when he heard his name being called. The tone was refreshing, not like all his previous teachers that seemed to fumble the pronunciation purposely embarrassing him in front of his peers. Adults seemed to dislike Sebastian more than people the same age as him, but hearing the new tone of his 3 syllable name sounded timid and alluring. He answered as confidently as possible. “Yes… Um… Here. I mean.. present. Sorry, Hi. I’m Sebastian.” His descent into blundering fool was more embarrassing than if she had pronounced his name wrong. The whole class snickering at Sebastian’s word vomit put to ease as fast as possible when the teacher immediately called the next persons name on the list saying it loud and repeating it without hesitation to mark whomever it was absent. Sebastian’s relief was astounding, normally the teacher would have let the whole class continue laughing until they bored. Sebastian hid his smile, putting attention back to the list he was writing when she had disrupted his work only a few moments ago. When his eyes returned to the page it wasn’t a list of anything, it was a page from the journal. He had subconsciously written one of the entries. The unexpected and remarkable paragraph he unknowingly transcribed was about a teenager that suffocated himself using carbon dioxide from a car exhaust. Sebastian tapped the pen on the paper incisively, a strange feeling of satisfaction disguised his confusion. He had a feeling he had written Rhys’s brother’s suicide note.

Twenty feet from Sebastian’s desk was the chalk board. It covered top to bottom in very girly script including the heart dotted letter ‘i’ of her name, Claire Neville. Included on the blackboard was the daily class assignments, homework, and her personal email address. She explained that the school had not provided her with an official email address yet and that nobody should abuse the privilege of having her personal information. It was her segue into plagiarism. She claimed to have a zero tolerance for anyone lying about the writing they submit as their own. The lecture she had prepared would scare anyone from ever attempting to steal another authors work or even another students. She was younger and exulted her youth saying she was on the internet as much as anyone else in the classroom and she would search every known forum for students sharing writing. Sebastian liked how assertive she was about being original. He had often questioned why other students wanted to cheat, especially after he had worked so hard to be in college the risk of being expelled was terrifying. He listened to every word she said, wrote every word she told the class to document. Sebastian captivated by her beauty. He hadn’t thought about the journal in his messenger bag for nearly an hour. He did start to think about how incredibly stupid it was going to be when he turned in Rhys’s love letter instead of a real resume. Sebastian didn’t even attempt to argue with his previous promise, he would do as Rhys asked without question. His loyalty was with his friend, but biologically his rock hard erection was trying to persuade him into changing the name and phone number on Rhys’s poetry. Sebastian started to feel more awkward than when he messed up during the morning roll call.

Seconds turned into minutes and soon those minutes would accumulate into an hour and his penis would be traumatized from the pressure of not being able to masturbate. If he had sat in the back of the classroom he would have attempted to relieve himself, but instead he was front row with the sexual protagonist. Sebastian scanned his memory for all sorts of things that would normally calm his out-of-place erections. His parents dead bodies, his sickly grandmother, his grandfathers funeral but nothing was working. His time in class was about to expire and he would have to walk out in shame, maybe sent to see the school nurse or worse the dean. Sebastian prepared himself for complete degradation. He had cleared everything from his desk with exception of Rhys’s stupid love resume. Sebastian’s eyes went left to right, reading every word printed on it. After finishing the task reading Rhys’s bad writing his erection disappeared and replaced by contempt for his friend. He felt ashamed that his new charming teacher would have to read these awful limericks. Sebastian tried to blend into the single file line of students on their way to drop off their writers resumes on her desk, he wanted to blend in more than ever. He couldn’t handle a one on one conversation with Claire, not knowing how his penis would react. Maybe it was luck or maybe it was the person before Sebastian’s turn at the front of the desk the student before him wanted to explain something about his résumé as an excuse to hit on her. Sebastian couldn’t have been happier to drop off the fraudulent resume, without hesitation he escaped the class by running. Nearly knocking over a few different students with his clumsy dash he let his feet go faster than his mind and he ran straight into the hallway and into the adjacent classroom.

I made business cards for my book. they say, "Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. Chronic feelings of emptiness. Recurrent suicidal behavior. www.localgoth.com" I scanned the image in so you can see. it's at the bottom of this entry: [localgoth.com] ...... I've been having some interesting feedback when I hand them to people. So far, it's not getting the desired effect. I'm having a contest, if anybody reads the story and thinks of a good few words or sentences that describe the book or websites content. I'll print it up and give credit.